


Dear Julien (Love, Kei)

by lovelycherryblondelocks



Series: Love, Kei [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Fluff, M/M, kei has a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26530003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelycherryblondelocks/pseuds/lovelycherryblondelocks
Summary: A stranger knocks on Keiji's dingy door at three in the morning.Short of caffeine and deprived of sex and sleep, he opens without thought.What enters is a boy no older than seven, with golden tufts of hair and wispy lashes."I'm looking for my father." The little intruder announces. "I believe his ex-lovers might know where to find him."
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Tsukishima Kei, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei, Miya Osamu/Tsukishima Kei, Tsukishima Kei/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Series: Love, Kei [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015272
Comments: 47
Kudos: 325





	Dear Julien (Love, Kei)

**Author's Note:**

> a break from the normalcy (not too heavy or descriptive). i've had this idea for a while and i really wanted to write it. it's just a simple story, but i'm glad i was finally able to publish it here. this is a 3am fic endeavour though, so forgive me if i might have overlooked any errors. 
> 
> as always, have a nice read <3

*

_Dear Julien,_

_Be good to your uncles, okay? They're idiots, so you have to cut them some slack._

_Also, don't stay up too late. Drink your milk to grow taller._

_Dream well, little one._

_Love, Kei_

*

The boy hums a song reminiscent of summer skies and morning walks around nature – high-pitched, obnoxiously cheerful and annoyingly catchy. It's a tune too rare for a sad, lonely single man living in a spacious (arguably empty) apartment. Grumpy, bitter Keiji would not be able to tolerate it any longer without another cup of caffeine. _No_ , scratch that. He needs one gallon of coffee if he wants to survive this dreadful morning.

The intruder doesn't seem to mind the gloom, however. If Keiji were to look very closely, he'd say the boy's hazel gaze and pudgy cheeks look nowhere near remorseful. Not that the child plans on acting bashful or shameful or – _hell_ , scared to be sitting in a stranger's place. He doesn't fit the criteria at all, acting like he owns the space with his brown beret and silly yellow suitcase. Keiji's first impression of the boy had him mercilessly fooled.

"Now," the boy begins. He lays his crayons flat and shows him a badly drawn sketch of what Keiji could only suppose as his father's face. "Do you recognise this man?"

Keiji blinks. He sips his coffee, desperate to soothe the stir in his stomach.

"I'm afraid not, detective." He says, sluggish.

The boy huffs at his reply. With two feeble hands, he rummages through the contents of his bag. The wheel clatters from the disturbance, resounding with a click as he pulls on its zipper.

Keiji snorts as he sees the child reveal a brown envelope. He stays silent as the wrinkled paper slides smoothly to his side.

"And these are?" His brows question.

"Files." The boy answers simply. He fiddles with his glasses, the round frames tilting over the bridge of his button nose.

"You look tired. Did you have your breakfast?"

"It's three in the morning." Comes the easy reply.

"Yes, I can see that Sherlock." Keiji retorts flatly. "Either I'm hallucinating or there's really a hungry kid in my living room."

The boy harrumphs, "I ate a bowl of cereal before I got here."

Keiji scowls. "And how exactly did you get here?"

"I took the train."

"On your own?"

His intruder beams, eyes twinkling with pride. He puffs out his chest as if to boast. With his small hand, he makes a show of patting the dip of his shoulder. _Good job_ , it seems to praise.

"On my own," the toothy grin repeats.

Keiji ignores the envelope in his hand and prepares to stand. "That's it. I'm calling your parents. Give me their number."

"I told you, I'm looking for him."

 _Oh_. A single parent? Who on earth would let their child wander alone?

The man sighs tiredly. He asks again, tone gentler, "Any other relatives I can call?"

Two wide eyes innocently gaze back at him. "If I tell you, they'd get me."

"Well, that's the point."

"Then I can’t look for father anymore." The boy adds. He hangs his head, dejected.

Feeling merciful, Keiji decides to lightly ruffle his hair. The curls unfurl under his caress, swaying freely to the languid beat of passing cars from below. "I'm sure if you tell your relatives about it they'll help you."

"They won't."

"You don't know that."

The boy frowns. "I _do_ know. I've tried but they won't tell me anything."

Figures, most adults would go with _that_. Keiji remembers his mother doing the same thing for him as a fatherless child. Lying for comfort – it's a cruel way to delude someone into hoping. His mom once said adults do it to keep children happy. But Keiji thinks they only do it to fool themselves. It's silly, how far they're willing to keep up the act, presenting their faces in bold masks or cool facades, always sure and in sync with everything – but the minute a child asks about reality, they instantly fumble for a lie.

A child's feeling is fragile, they say. Keiji thinks it's a bullshit excuse for cowardly people.

"Do you really think your dad will come back if you look for him?" 

He poses the thought with frankness. Keiji is certain it's what the child deserves.

When the silence lingers, he starts again, "Someone out there is looking for you. They're probably crying right now. You really want that on your conscience?"

The child squirms in his spot. His shoulders rise, the clench of his fist tensing. "I'll come home once I see my dad again."

"Your choice." Keiji advices. A long minute later, he finally dares a peek at the envelope. He pokes hesitantly at the creased edges, the tips of his fingers drumming against a stamped name. 

_Julien's files_ , the label reads.

An odd name for sure. Keiji thinks it's probably American. If that were the case, chances are his father is too.

Intrigued, Keiji probes, "So Julien, what do these files contain?"

"They're letters," Julien mumbles shyly. There's a noticeable diffidence in his shrug, a gesture too distant. It barely made for a bright child's disposition, scarce of cheery tones and easy smiles. "My father wrote one for every lover he had."

Keiji's mind falters. Lover? Would that mean the child's father is one of Keiji's exes? It's likely – Koutaro did have a penchant for writing Keiji love letters when they were still dating. And although rarely, Koushi did too. The other, less interesting ones didn't last very long– but Keiji wouldn't exclude them either. Everyone has written a message or two for someone. A poem, a quote collection, a pretentious citation of some fancy, best-selling romance book – a death threat for a cheating ex, a hostile parting word, or a just a simple, lacklustre apology. It could be about anything.

Curious, Keiji tries to clarify the letter's intent, "What's your father's name?"

Julien looks at him with silent judgment. Blinking slowly, he answers, "Tsukishima. Tsukishima Kei."

And that was all Keiji needed to drown himself in a tub of coffee.

*

"Oh my god, you're right. He does look like Tsukki."

Koutarou gasps at the resemblance with exaggerated fascination. He plays with the child's cheeks, playfully pinching them with his calloused fingers and wincing as Julien bites on his skin.

"Careful, he's feisty," Keiji warns belatedly.

The crass greeting does not deter Koutarou one bit. He shifts elatedly in his seat, stealing glances at the boy's soft locks and scrunched forehead.

"Look! He even got Tsukki's pout right!" Koutaro points out triumphantly. "It's uncanny."

Keiji hums faintly from behind his kitchen island. He keeps himself busy with the lazy whirring of his kettle. Tapping his soles to the rhythm of his distress, he takes a sneaky peek at the boy's pinched expression. He could see Julien bristling in distaste, swatting the older's eager pokes with the simple flick of his wrist. From afar, the boy posed stiffly – a reserved and standoffish kid who acted more maturely than Koutaro did.

Keiji cannot deny the resemblance. The years may have slightly frayed Kei's image in his mind, but he still treasures a vivid copy of soft chuckles and fond, rare smiles. If one were to ask Keiji about what Kei dressed like before, he'd immediately have a long response the height of Kei's sophisticated closet. If one were to bring up Kei in any kind of conversation, Keiji would be the first to ramble about his ridiculous misadventures and not so modest lifestyle. He lives lavishly in Keiji's eyes – _had_ lived, that is.

Keiji knows much about Kei. Even if the man has become a wearied, indistinct shadow in his life.

It's been eight long years since he'd last seen or heard of him. He'd left people wondering about the _whys_ and the _wheres_. And in the years he'd kept his spot empty by the balcony's shade, or the window's thresholds– he'd left Keiji on his own to struggle for an answer.

 _Eight years_. Eight damn years and Kei is yet to send a single reply. And the one time he does, it comes in the form of a small, brazen boy with the strut of a devilish brat and a knack for reckless home invasion. _What a daunting revelation._ Keiji hopes Kei is _at least_ having fun with this.

"I always knew Tsukki would have a cute, lovely son who'd look just like him."

 _Just like him._ The longer Keiji surveys Julien and his checkered jumpsuit, the more he feels convinced.

His heart constricts at the thought. It's nostalgic, he tries to put simply. The bittersweet reminder glowers at him with a sore realisation that Kei has a son. A son who looks just like him. And it makes him ponder again. Short blonde locks, feathery lashes and cherry lips, a hue of mischief in the kindest eyes Keiji has ever seen and a gold badge for the greatest quips and witty jests Keiji has only truly laughed at –it's all Kei's, truly. But now, it's Julien's too.

"Have you called Tetsu yet?" Koutaro appears beside him. Keiji notes a cartoonish song playing in the background, the older presumably having turned on the TV for distraction.

"No." He returns honestly. The kettle whistles as he reclines against the creaking hinges of his kitchen cabinet. "I don't think he'll handle the news well."

Koutarou hums, contemplative. "I think he would. You know he's moved on."

Keiji's fingers latch on the marbled ledge. He clenches his jaw, then nibbles on his parched lips. "I know but–"

"You still blame him, don't you?"

When Keiji answers him with silence, Koutarou lets out a slow exhale. He pivots on his place against the counter, trundling towards a wooden stool too small for his height. He sits on it anyway, albeit awkwardly. For a few, curt seconds he plays with the strings of his black hoodie.

"The engagement was eight years ago. Tetsu did his best to make it work, you know?"

"And Kei didn't?" Keiji argues. Frost slithers in his veins, where a mad colour boils in a barely concealed resentment. 

"Kei left because he wanted to. You knew that. Everybody knew that." Koutarou struggles to keep his own anger at bay. He lets his pause linger, just to earn a moment of respite to rethink his next words. Softly, he continues, "Tetsu didn't drive him away. The break was mutual. Everyone was sad but they were okay with it and –"

Tired from last night's shift, Keiji decides to drop the issues before they even have a chance to resurface. As much as he would love to rebut all of Koutarou's implications, he knows best than to start another needless argument. It would be too much of a hassle to resolve the problems anyway, and with Kei's kid close by, it’s probably best to forgo it.

Debating costs too much time and energy, Keiji would rather spend it on addressing Julien's untimely appearance in his life.

So he concedes, easily and without protest, "You're right. I'll tell him once we call the boy's guardians. I'm sure whoever's in charge of watching over him right now is having a panic attack."

Koutarou doesn't seem assured by his words, but he doesn't repeat anything about it. Instead, he shakes his head in compliance and hesitantly chuckles at Keiji's suggestion.

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was Hinata looking after him."

The proposition evinces a breathy snicker from Keiji. He could almost imagine Kageyama-kun's raspy reprimands and Yamaguchi-san's grief-stricken face. Keiji is sure to have an early reunion with them again.

"I won't go back yet." A new voice enters the kitchen. Keiji stutters in surprise as he sees Julien stride confidently towards one of the high chairs. His reaches the seat with ease – a seamless execution that Keiji could not help but admire.

"You don't have to." It's Koutarou who explains for him. He approaches the table in three quick steps, sitting right across the boy with his trademark grin in place. "We just want you to call them and tell them that you're with us. Is that okay?"

A deafening hush reverberates through the ceilings. Julien stalls his quietness with a long gaze to the ground. He fiddles with his fingers again, clasping and unclasping them the way Kei used to when he was anxious.

Keiji prepares to think of alternatives, already certain the boy would refuse. But as he fishes out his phone to tap on an old number, the child speaks again.

This time, however, Julien's voice is timid. "You call them. If I do it, they'd shut me off right away."

Koutarou squeaks contentedly. He whips his head, raising his thumbs and simpering in approval. Keiji takes his wordless celebration as a go signal.

In four swipes, he clicks on a number he'd long left unread.

*

"Did he at least take his inhaler with him?"

Relief escapes from Keiji's speakers and tickles his ears with a lingering pinch of guilt. He nods to the call's static silence and responds, a bit too tensely, "I checked his suitcase, he packed a few extra clothes in there too. The kid must have planned ahead of time."

Yamaguchi huffs, partly vexed and partly resigned. "Figures. He's been acting all cryptic last night so I knew he was up to something bad again."

"If it's alright to ask," Keiji wavers. With two deep breaths, he proceeds again, "Does this mean Kei is back?"

A strained cough makes its way to Keiji's phone before Yamaguchi fumbles with his reply, "He – _uhm_ , h-he's not here. He left Julien with us before flying back to France. Kei, _er_ , well Kei hasn't visited for a while now. Julien really misses him."

"Oh." Keiji mutters dumbly. "Does he...keep in contact with you?"

"Not so much. But he still sends letters to Julien." Yamaguchi answers. There's a bit of sadness in his words as he says them. He even sounds close to crying. Before Keiji could squeeze in another question, Yamaguchi pleads, "If it's alright with you, could you maybe...amuse him for a while? You see, Julien's been really into this detective act for some time now and, he's been really curious about how Kei's life was like here in Japan. Kei hasn't really told him much about it."

 _Of course_. Kei wasn't one to share much about himself. Even in the most pleasant company, he keeps most things secret. Keiji wouldn't be too stunned if Kei had not mentioned him to Julien at all. The only proof of his existence in the other's life is buried deep beneath the lines of a dried, loosely tied letter in one of Julien's _case files_.

That reminds him, "The kid wants to know about his ex-lovers."

Yamaguchi breathes out a watery chuckle. He sniffs, probably cold from the biting breeze of winter. "Kei uses them as characters for bedtime stories. That's why Julien was so happy when he finally found the letters containing all of their names."

Keiji smiles at the thought. He imagines, Kei whispering softly to Julien's ear, talking about fairies and dragons and dumb men. Perhaps he'd slipped in a snarky character or two –Julien's sarcasm seemed to have stemmed from those late-night stories. Did he tell him about Ushijima, the stoic prince? Or Osamu, the gallant warrior? Keiji knows for sure Kei had painted Kuroo as the lord of the underworld. But what Keiji isn't sure of is his role in the story. He wasn't a lover. Keiji wasn't a demon king, a charming prince or a hailed warrior. Keiji was simply Keiji –Kei's foolish, pining friend.

"He had four letters with him." Keiji mutters absently.

"Well," Yamaguchi pauses. Keiji hears him bite on the inside of his cheek. "Maybe he once thought of you as one too."

*

_Dear Julien,_

_I heard you got in trouble again._

_Did the kids bully you at the playground? I keep telling you, violence is not the answer._

_Pathetic losers are not worth the blue knuckles, honey._

_Shut 'em up with some good ol' insult next time, okay?_

_Be smart, little one._

_Love, Kei_

_*_

The bar they venture to is far from kid-friendly. Not that there’s any bar who would willingly host one. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And _desperate measures_ do not necessarily mean one has to be ethical.

"Thank god it's not a busy night." A sound whimper meanders through the listless ambience. Koutaro's voice is kept to a minimum, but with the muffled singing and the tranquil air, his mumbles had morphed into a new bellow. He holds Julien close to him, looking every bit peeved. Keiji supposes if it were Koutarou's call, he'd willingly carry the child and run away from the bar's vicinity.

Keiji understands his unease. No reasonable adult would ever partake in something like this. But Julien is jarringly persuasive. And Keiji is surprisingly not as resilient as he thought. Koutarou was obviously out of question. Show the man a sparkling wink and let your lashes flutter and he'd bow to your commands in an instant – no matter how ridiculous the demand may be. Julien is more than aware of this advantage. And he uses it to be conniving. Truly a _Tsukishima_.

"How bland," Julien remarks. "Where are all the dancing ladies?"

Koutarou baulks. The hitch in his steps makes him teeter. "What has Tsukki been teaching you?!"

"Censorship is for losers," follows a pompous explanation. The boy raises his head in a fancy tilt, a vague imitation of his father's stern and posh demeanour. "Kei says kids have to learn as much as they can about reality."

"He certainly taught you well." Keiji comments, nonplussed. At the back of his mind, a quaint speech from Kei ceaselessly rambles in defence. His child-rearing ways are questionable but they sure prove to be entertaining.

"He didn't have to go as far as to tell you about _that_." Koutaro reasons.

Julien loosens his grip on the man's palm as if to gesticulate a lengthy argument. "Kei had a lot of friends from the club. They were kind people. They told me there was nothing wrong with what they do. It helped pay the bills."

Keiji blinks owlishly, "Club _?_ Where has Kei been taking you?"

"It's not like that." Julien corrects. "When we were still living in France, he worked as a part-timer at one of our town's club. I used to follow him around because I was bored and the other workers would play with me during their break-time."

"France?" Keiji parrots. So Kei has been living in France. Yamaguchi-san didn't mention much about how long he'd been staying there. For a while, Keiji had assumed he was simply there for work. But for it to be a part-time job? That seems like an unusual choice for a top-ranking student with a promising degree. Keiji had even predicted he would land himself a high-paying job.

But, some plans do tend to change. Julien certainly wasn't a plan that suited Kei.

"Strange world we live in." He thoughtlessly says out loud after a minute of no response.

Koutarou snorts at his absurdity before ordering a glass of juice for Julien. The bartender soundlessly prepares the beverage, casting a brief glance at the pair before focusing on his work. He doesn't look too bothered by the kid's presence. And though bewildered, he doesn’t show any plans of raising questions.

Keiji is grateful their unlikely companion hasn't garnered any interest. If Keiji were one of the few, numbered customers in this cub, he would mercilessly scrutinise the adults for such a decision. Luckily, he's a hypocrite so he lets his own behaviour slide.

 _It's for the kid anyway,_ he reasons with his morals.

"So how long do we have to wait for him?" 

Keiji peers at his wrist and reads the time. "Just a few more minutes."

Koutarou makes a disapproving noise. "Why'd he have to meet us _here_ anyway? Couldn't he have chosen a better location?"

"Beats me." Keiji shrugs. "But he won't agree to all of the places I recommended so we just have to bear with this. It'll only take an hour anyway."

"Two hours." Julien interrupts. "I have to get as much information from him as I can."

Keiji furrows his brows. "I thought you said we were only going to give him the letter."

"But not before talking to him," Julien reminds. He gets distracted by an audible clink, the bartender placing a colourful drink in front of his sight. The boy stares at it in awe before taking a messy slurp from his white, spiral straw.

Unyielding, Keiji tries to compromise, "An hour and a half."

Julien clicks his tongue, adamant. "Make it forty."

"Forty minutes is too much. You could get all of the answers you need in just one hour." Keiji kneads a frigid muscle in his nape. He scowls at the kid, persistent. "It's bad enough that I'm letting a kid sit in a club. But I also have to let it happen for almost two hours – that's a stain in my reputation."

With a louder slurp, the child bravely retorts, "I told you already, I've been to a club before. It was practically my second home. This is no big deal."

"For a seven-year-old, it might not be." Keiji agrees, "But for the social services, it's worth three years of jail time and additional two years for community service."

Which honestly doesn't sound too bad if not for the fact that Keiji has a life to live and bills to pay. Koutarou has his volleyball career at risk too if both of them aren't chary. Considering they willingly let a child inside a club, they might as well have been less than cognisant.

"What jail time?" At last, the awaited guest arrives. He appears dishevelled, worn and sore from what must have been the sprint of a lifetime.

"Osamu!" Koutarou welcomes him with a hug.

Keiji opts for a less invasive greeting, throwing the man a quick _hello_ and polite nod.

The man returns him an amiable look. And as he pats on his neatly ironed coat, his movement dithers.

"Yours?" He points his stare at the boy seated comfortably beside Koutarou.

The older flushes before denying the thought, "Tsukki's actually."

"Oh." Osamu utters weakly. Keiji notes the way his fist grasp on the table's rustic rims. His shoulders sag as he sits, close to Julien's right, gingerly combing his ashen locks with trembling fingers.

"That's – _uhm_ , that's... a surprise."

"It's a long story." Koutarou supplies, expression morphing into a sympathetic smile.

"Osamu, this is Julien. Julien, this is Osamu." Then, as if to muddle the already hazy evening, Keiji adds, "Kei's lovely college boyfriend."

*

_He meets him at a lousy party hosted by Atsumu's boisterous volleyball friends. He'd downed the last of his beverage then, eager to go home and wallow in his sheets –preferably alone, but if he's fortunate, maybe he'd take another company with him –_

"Hold on –" Julien shuffles in his seat. He bends down to reach for his suitcase. Zealously, he pulls out another file. The _file_ , Keiji notices, is a bit more eccentric. It shines a glittery pink and has bold letters inscribed at the front. _The Flower_ , it spells. "My sources tell me you didn't meet at the bar."

Dumbstruck, Osamu takes a stressed sip. "And what do your sources say exactly?"

"You met in a garden!" Julien huffishly corrects. "You were running from someone, you went inside a cafe to hide and then by some dumb luck, stumbled on the shop's backyard and, and – _BAM!_ You saw him."

Osamu arches a brow, puzzled. "Him?"

"Kei! You saw Kei!" Julien drawls childishly. He makes a scene of slapping his arms on the counter, like a miffed detective in a sweaty, stuffy interrogation room. "And the first words you said to him was: _you are the most beautiful flower in the garden."_

Keiji stares at Osamu blankly. "You really said that?"

Koutarou gapes at him in disbelief. _One, two, three_ crickets later, he lets out a sonorous guffaw. It resounds deeply that the whole club stares at them in annoyance.

Osamu stammers a reply, flustered and out of balance. "I-I might have said it...or something."

"So I was right!" Julien beams, feeling victorious.

"Well, not exactly," Osamu says. "I did meet Kei at the bar. The first time he met me was in the garden."

When no one objects, he continues, "It was a lame party. The people were too loud or too stupid and I was too eager to go home but then–"

"Ah! Hold that thought!"

Keiji rolls his eyes and groans, "What now?"

His exasperation is met with a flash. Blinking through his bleary vision, Keiji sees the boy holding up a camcorder.

"Is that...?" Keiji stiffens in recognition. Two limp hands fall close to his ribs. The jab of his elbows nearly knocks his breath away, and Keiji struggles to regain his composure.

Julien mumbles out a perplexed hum. "This one?" He tilts the camera in his palm. "This was Kei's. He told me to keep it safe for him. Apparently a dear friend of his gave it to him as a gift."

"Yeah," Keiji nods distractedly. He rolls his tongue, failing miserably to stay in a steady footing. "I...I gave that to him for his 18th birthday, before he –" _wait, what happened that year? Something about Osamu finding out, Koushi breaking up with him – ah, it was the day Keiji realised he'd only ever looked at Kei._

His speech dwindles to a reluctant drone. Koutaro casts him a worried glance, eyes wide and expectant. He doesn't get to remark on Keiji's hesitation though, as Osamu chimes in with a soft gasp.

"I remember this one." Osamu cranes his neck to give the camera a deeper inspection. Julien tenses at his gesture, reclining against Koutaro's slouched back.

"You do?" Julien probes gingerly.

Osamu chuckles, "Kei was griping about some stupid movie at that time. He was really bitter 'bout that one scene and he couldn't stop ranting about it. So I told him if he thought he could do better, he should make his own film."

Julien nods to his every word with anticipation. Mouth agape and eyes twinkling, he hastily urges Osamu to continue.

"I said it as a joke, but Kei _really_ took it to heart and told me that once he saved enough money, he'd buy a camera for his birthday." Osamu muses at the memory, endeared. Elbows glued to the high chair's squeaky backrest, he takes another peek at the twinkling red of the camcorder. Julien has it on, it seems. And Osamu casually plays along to the boy's antics.

"I was actually planning on buying it for him -as a surprise, but..." throwing an unreadable glance at Keiji, Osamu clears his throat, "Someone did it first."

Keiji looks away. Suddenly, he feels much more inclined to admire the abstract painting on the bartender's wall.

"And then a week after his birthday you broke up with him right?" Julien pries, oblivious.

" _We_ broke up." Osamu clarifies. "He was tired. I was tired. We tried to make it work but, _well_ , things happened."

"What things?"

Keiji freezes. Koutaro sneaks a pat on his shoulder.

Osamu notes the strain and wisely steers the topic elsewhere, "I'm sorry but why are you asking me these things again?"

Julien grumbles. Swiftly, he flips through the pages of his pink book, then after gulping the last of his drink, "In a garden, where the sun never visits –"

*

_A wilting flower sways. It dangles gloomily that if the gardener were to poke at its stem, a petal would fall._

_The other flowers in the garden gawk at it with pity. The birds, though always twittering, never stay close to its shadow._

_One day, a lone traveller passes by the fence. He walks with a swagger and sings a melody too charming for the humble soil. And when he speaks, soft and gentle, the flowers swoon._

_All but one._

_"Why does this flower not do the same?" Asks the traveller._

_"I cannot hear you, sir." Says the wilting flower._

_"Well then, I just have to come to you."_

_"But sir, I have thorns. I will hurt you." The wilting flower protests._

_"Nonsense." The traveller says. "I just have to cut the thorns."_

_"But if you do that, I won't be able to protect myself from the garden thieves!" The flower cries._

_"Dear no! If I don't do it, your thorns will kill you." The traveller insists._

_On and on they bantered. Until one evening, the flower relented._

_"Why do you want me?" The flower asks._

_"Why shouldn't I?" The traveller returns._

_"I'm wilting. No one wants a shrivelled flower."_

_"But I want you." The traveller tells the flower. "And I will want you again and again and again."_

_"And if my last petal falls?"_

_The traveller gasps, "I would never let that happen!"_

_"But it will."_

_"Well," The traveller huffs. "I will still stay with you."_

_But see, the traveller is simply a passerby. And no passerby stops for a meek, little flower._

_Still, the traveller stayed. Still, the traveller waited._

_At dawn, as the thorns wither, the traveller sings and the flower dances–slowly and slowly, the petals open, more vibrant than ever._

_And in that garden, where the sun never visits,_

_*_

"The flower sings too."

There's a hush as the boy reads the end of the story. The men, seemingly uncertain, dawdle on their seats with tightly pursed lips.

Julien closes the book with a muted slam. "So...what happened to the _traveller_ and the _flower_?"

Osamu shifts. The volume of his voice is low. "I guess they just woke up one day and didn't want to sing anymore."

*

They part ways at twilight, Keiji having sent his guilty prayers to the gods. He wonders, distantly, if Kei would have minded. His mind fails him though, as nothing helpful crossed his imagination. Whatever Kei may be feeling at the moment, he'd have to suffer it alone. It's the least he can do for the eight years of silence.

Besides, Julien is no ordinary child. Sleeping beyond his bedtime wouldn't be the worst thing to happen. It wouldn't come as a shock either if he turns out to be a night-owl. Most of his habits had been Kei's, so it's not as peculiar.

"Did you hand him the letter?" Keiji inquires.

Julien nods from the backseat of the car, two tiny legs swinging back and forth. The camera in his hand blinks and stares at Keiji with the same zeal as Julien's smile.

"He cried when he read it."

Koutaro squawks, "Why are you so happy then?"

"Because," Julien glows, brighter than Keiji has ever seen, "that must mean he _loved_ him right?"

Keiji glances at the rearview mirror. He chuckles, fondness seeping through his lungs.

"He did."

*

("You like him don't you?"

"I do."

Koushi sighs, "Why didn't you tell him?"

Keiji ganders at the swaying bodies. Kei in Osamu's arms, a gentle dance filled with love and little space to intervene.

Keiji hums to the music with a drop of acid in his throat. Sour and pungent.

"He looks happy." He answers simply.)

*

_Dear Julien,_

_Are you having fun? Do you still read the stories I wrote for you?_

_It's going to be a little busy this week, so I asked your nee-san to keep sending them._

_Stay healthy, okay? Being sick sucks like hell._

_Love, Kei_

*

** Video 2: Ushijima Wakatoshi **

_"Up next! Our most awaited guest!"_

_"Wait, that makes it sound like a tv show interview."_

_"Oh, you're right! Wait, let me try again–"_

"Why are we doing this?" Keiji grouses behind the camera's lens. He holds it with unexpected care, the shift in his movement straightening for fear of scratching the device.

" _Shh_! Just keep the camera rolling!"

Before him sits Julien, frantically going through his files and freezing slightly under Ushijima's build. Even when sitting, the man manages to tower over all of them. It's an admirable feat, Keiji admits. But Julien doesn't seem too welcoming of the man's unapologetic height.

There's certainly a stark difference between the older's appearance and disposition. From his neat, nicely-tailored suit to his stony expression – it’s almost as if he isn’t the kind of man to willingly open his fancy doors for children. Especially the frank, tactless and eccentric ones.

"You’re really fine with this?" Keiji directs his gaze to Ushijima's, straight-faced.

"It's not much of a bother, really." The man shakes his head, pulling his lips to a delighted grin. His usually passive front transforms into interest. With folded legs and crossed fingers placed firmly atop his knee, he looks at the young boy again.

"So, what do you want to ask me?"

Encouraged, Julien gestures at Koutaro to flip through the cue cards. Koutarou indulges him with an automatic switch to the next cardboard, where a lonely, messily scribbled phrase glints.

"Now," Julien clears his throat. His glasses lay close to the tip of his nose, askew. "How did you and Kei meet?"

Keiji readies the camcorder again. Smoothly, he positions it towards Ushijima's amused face.

_"I met him at a convenience store."_

_"Convenience store?"_

_"He was scanning through a pile of flavoured treats and I was standing just behind it."_

_"He didn't see you?"_

A barely contained chuckle, then, " _Not at all. The only thing he could focus on was the strawberry chip in my hand."_

_"Kei loves strawberry."_

_"He does. He asked to switch the snacks with me."_

_"How shameless."_

_"But if he hadn't asked for it I wouldn't have gotten the courage to speak to him."_

_"You wanted to talk to him?"_

_"Badly."_ Ushijima slouches slightly in his chair, relaxed _. "I'm glad I picked the strawberry flavour that day."_

Julien twiddles with a pen, pleased. _"And from then on, you waited for him at the convenience store every night."_

_"Seems like you read his book well."_

_"Kei loves to use real people as characters. I have to say, you're more talkative than the quiet prince."_

_"I think a lot of people would say the same."_

Julien hums, growing more and more intrigued.

_"The tale says the prince was the princess' first."_

_"Relationship? Yes. Love?"_ Ushijima falters. _"I think that was reserved for someone else."_

_"Was that why you only lasted a year?"_

"O-oi!" Koutaro chides.

"Whaaat?" Julien whines.

Ushijima raises a palm, unaffected. He opens his mouth again, and this time, he speaks more carefully,

_"Was that also in the book?"_

The boy nods _. "The prince defeated the evil witch and ran away with the princess. At dawn, they parted ways, two different paths unwinding."_

_"And he tells you this story every night?"_

_"Kei tells me a lot of things. Except the life he lived here."_

_"I'm sure he had a reason."_

_"Was there?"_

_"Pardon?"_

_"Was there a reason?"_

"Yeah, was there?" Keiji repeats. Three heads turn to him, bemused. "S-sorry, _uh_ , please...do continue."

_"Kei is an enigma. He does things a certain way. You could never really tell what goes on in his mind. I may not be able to say for sure what his intentions were, but I am certain there is a reason."_

_"Kei is Kei."_ The boy agrees. A quick nod to Koutarou, and another card appears. Julien squints his eyes at the small characters.

_"He said something... in your letter –"_

_"Letter?"_

Julien hands him a rose-coloured envelope.

_"That you weren't a fan of fiction."_

Ushijima takes a minute to reply. The letter in his hands remains unopened.

_"But you read all the books he recommended. Even the supernatural ones."_

_"It was his favourite."_

_"What a lovely man. Such a pity he dumped you too soon."_

Koutaro sputters, ready to berate. Keiji does the same, albeit more flabbergasted. Ushijima's baffled laughter cuts them off just in time to avoid another banter. It's a noise too novel, rarely uttered by a stoic, 19-year-old boy barely at the cusp of anything –but for an older, less reserved 34-year-old Ushijima, the sound fits just right.

 _"At dawn, they parted ways, two different paths unwinding."_ The older cites the line in a deeper volume. _"Someone else was waiting for him at the end of his route."_

~~** (Video 2: Ushijima Wakatoshi) ** ~~  
** Tape Two: An Interview with the Stoic Prince **  
**_-54:30-_ **

*****

"Did you see him cry?" It's Koutarou who drives the wheel this time.

Keiji sits at the front, absentminded. He hears the smothered taps of little feet on the car's carpet.

"Yes," Julien replies. "But he also had a very wide smile on his face."

Koutarou lowers the stereo's music. "He must have been overwhelmed."

"Figures," Julien mumbles sleepily. "Kei likes writing sad letters."

Keiji feels a light nudge to his side. When he leans towards Koutarou, the older whispers a hesitant,

"Did you read your letter?"

"No." He responds despondently. There's a croak in his sigh as he adjusts the seatbelt's hold. "I'll read it once this is all done."

Rain knocks on the roof of the car. Koutaro hums to the rhythmic thumps of each droplet. And as the quiet settles, Keiji gets the sudden urge to peek behind his shoulders.

The flippant child slumps on the headrest, temple free of crease or sweat. His beret stays glued to his twirled yellow strands. Lids sealed shut and snores light, Julien sleeps for the rest of the afternoon.

*

("Are you still in love with him?"

Keiji answers Koutaro with silence.

Koutaro answers back with a piercing stillness.

"It's always going to be him, isn't it?"

 _Always_. It goes unsaid.)

*

They make their last delivery to Kuroo's house. Keiji stands by the gateway and waits as a tall, charming woman welcomes them.

He doesn't make a move even as Julien bounces towards the wide pavement of the fancy house. He stays rooted to the grimy, uneven tiles even as Koutarou treads excitedly onto the same direction.

Keiji purposely falls behind with no promise of staying. Lucy pulls him with a quaint call just before he makes another retreat.

"Tetsu would be happy to see you."

"I'm sure he would." He kicks on the dust, pensive.

A moment later, Lucy speaks again. "He's a cute kid." Her heels fidget. A loose strand falls freely in front of her ocean eyes. Lucy moves a hand, a golden band glinting on display.

"He's Kei's," Keiji says without pausing. The spite is evident. It seethes and sizzles in his veins – almost like plague crawling into his mind. Keiji doesn't want to blame. Keiji doesn't want to resent. But when he sees a spot where Kei would have loved to be in, he feels the poison spread like wildfire. 

Lucy keeps her chin high. "The door's open if you want to come in."

Keiji wordlessly declines her invitation.

He knows how the story goes. Kei meets him at the bus stop, under the heavy pour of rain. Kuroo notices him much, _much_ later on – a different time, a different storm. The rain kept pouring and they kept meeting. Kuroo talks to him one day, Kei replies. And the rest is history.

In Julien's story, Kuroo might be royalty. A knight perhaps. Comely, debonair and mischievous - the kind of character Kei himself would scoff at, but would inevitably fall in love with. Keiji knows how the story goes because he was there for every lovesick rambling Kei had chattered. He was present to all of his smitten rants, long-winded speeches and yellow denials. 

Keiji watched the man fall in and out of love. He watched Kei cry his heartbreak away. But nothing could ever compare to the ache Kuroo gave him. 

"You still blame me, don't you?" A raspy voice resonates from the whispering wind chimes. 

Keiji doesn't spare the wispy tone a second glance. 

"Maybe." He pockets his hand, pale knuckles frosted over with a hostile cold. It's been too long, but he just can't seem to let it go away.

Kuroo stands close, shoulders slack against the wall. "That's alright. I blame me too."

Keiji inhales slowly. The puff of his chest deflates as he releases a strained breath. Distantly, he wonders, "I could have loved him better." _Better than you did_.

He doesn't face Kuroo as the man retorts, "I'm sure you loved him better than any of us did."

"Three years," Keiji recalls. "You had him for _three years_. Why did you let go?"

"We had the same dream." Comes a vague reply. Kuroo scratches on his neck, his rigid muscles loosening, "In those three years, I loved him dearly. Shared the same playlist. Loved the same things. Planned on moving to a richer neighbourhood, maybe near the beach where we could walk 'til sunset. We thought the same dreams. Until one day, he woke up, saying he wanted to live in France, start a family there and buy a small cottage."

Keiji listens without protest. He heeds to every word for fear of never hearing an explanation again.

"He woke up with a different dream. And I couldn't keep up with it."

*

Yamaguchi-san calls him at midnight. The phone rings and echoes in Keiji's ears, but he leaves them unattended.

A letter stands firmly in his table. Three, neat paragraphs glare at him with a revelation he is yet to fathom.

"You finally read it?" Julien moseys towards the wooden table. The chair squeaks as he plops down across the older. 

"You said you were looking for him."

"I was." The child mumbles. "But I was also looking for you."

"Why?" _Why now? Why not eight years ago?_ _When he left with a number that didn't answer, when he left him with an address that didn't exist, when he left him - why not then?_

Julien disrupts his thoughts with a tap on the table's edge. Keiji notices too late the sparkling book in his hand.

_"In a land, too dry for crops to grow and too cold for the townspeople to dance - a shadow lurks. But this shadow, is not a wicked shadow. This shadow is kind and loving and selfless. The shadow follows the broken. The shadow shelters them from the wretched snow. The shadow keeps them safe because the shadow is a friend. And -"_

"The shadow loves." Julien lays a palm on Keiji's, a snug and mellow hold. "Kei said that the shadow will protect me too."

*

("Before I die..." Kei muses out loud one, peaceful evening.

Keiji buries himself in the couch's cushions, nose deep in the covers of his textbook.

"Before you die?" He urges.

Kei leans on his armchair, eyes gentle. "I'm going to hire someone to send my lovers one last letter each."

"Romantic," Keiji comments flatly. "You won't send one for me?"

Kei giggles, lashes fluttering. "We'll see.")

*

_Dear Julien,_

_I have a favour to ask you._

_You see, I made a promise to a dear friend. But I might not be able to give him that promise -_

_This man is very, very special. I've loved him more than I've loved anyone else._

_I want you to look for him and deliver my letter._

_And when you finally find him -_

_Hug him for me, pat his head and tell him I'm okay._

_Then, make sure that he is too._

_Be strong, little one. I'll cheer you on._

_Love, Kei_

_*_


End file.
